Meet Me in St Louis

 

    In the dream that woke me up around 1:10am this morning, I was on the field for some reason at a night baseball game. It wasn't raining but the condition of the warning track near Homeplate was muddy, the batter was trying to walk up for his turn and was sinking in with each step. (Second dream in a row about mud) The catcher was also having a hard time waiting in the crouch position, water was beginning to bubble up from below and sinkholes were forming. I could easily tell that the two teams playing were the NY Mets vs the ST Louis Cardinals - the Mets were in their visiting gray uniforms. The crowd became anxious - the clamor of voices became intensified since no one on the field or the stadium announcer knew what was going on. A woman screams from the upper deck and a flood burst into the stadium, completely covering the field in seconds, players wisely climbed up into the stands instead of retreating into the tunnels behind the dugouts. Some of the players stayed on the field, caught in the current trying to swim to the sides - I was also swimming to escape the current, the water was unbelievably warm. 

    My perspective changes, now I'm a fan trying to get away, I climb through a small hatch in one of the walls in the stands and come out into a well-lit theater. This puzzles me because everyone is seated as if waiting for a school performance to begin, no one seems to be concerned about the flooded stadium. For some reason the urgency to leave the first area brought with it the fear of being taken away in the flood, but the next location wasn't under the same threat. I'm panicked because the people are oblivious to what's coming - I don't want to yell "A flood is coming" inside a packed auditorium, that would be the job of the emcee to make the announcement to leave in an orderly fashion. I calmly walk to the exit door and a blond woman opens the door for me, waving me to come on before the announcement. I follow her through the door and wake up in the darkness of my bedroom.

    This morning, I needed to know if Busch Stadium was in a flood zone - so I did the necessary due diligence - they built the stadium just above a flood zone close to the Mississippi river. Last year I predicted the World Series winning team by accident before the season, maybe the Mets have a chance? The Mets are in ST Louis in May - the area gets the most rain historically IN THAT MONTH...

A few minutes later I decide to get back to sleep around 1:20am, checking my watch before closing my eyes. 

    I'm walking a hospital corridor in some official capacity. My route through the floor is direct, I know which room I'm headed to but don't know what bed in the shared room the person I'm looking for is located. An "assistant" or companion is with me talking about the brother and sister... the conversation trails off as I open the door and walk in. I look at the two patients on the left side of the room, one male, the other female. Directing my question to the female I ask "Ingrid Coldon?" the woman doesn't respond or dare point to the other side of the large room - I begin to turn to my right to pose the question again... I wake up again.

Checking the time, I had been asleep only ten minutes.

The last dream of this morning was very short, lasting only three minutes from what I can tell from the data recorded on my Apple Watch. 

    I'm in a kitchen inside an apartment that resembles the one from the movie "The Matrix" where the Oracle is baking cookies for Neo. The woman who is baking a cake resembles Esther Rolle from "Good Times" - she's busy preparing several dishes at a time but forgets to set the timer for the cake. I'm in the kitchen only observing, maybe a spirit or her internal thought process... I remind her about The Cake. Visibly upset she quickly pulls oven mitts on, worried that the cake is ruined and puts it on top of the counter on a trivet to cool off. The cake is sizzling, the woman's face is the picture of dismay, having forgotten a simple thing. I tell her not to worry that the cake is fine, but she decides to test the cake - picking up a piece she cut off and handing it to me - so I am actually in the room. I bite into the most delicious piece of cake, butter cream and chocolate. The flavors of the cake are all I can think of as the woman begins preparing to bake another.

I wake up.

This morning, I check the name that came to me in the dream Hospital. A name closest is associated with a missing persons case, but the name I said had no hits to a real person. 

Mud Men

    

Boiling Mud Pit

    For most of the dream I was having this morning everything revolved around being inside an office building, the atmosphere in the hallways was darkened, like the feel you get playing some horror-style games where a jump-scare is anticipated around every corner. This building reminded me of the many dream hotels I've "visited" in the past. Riding up the elevator, I wasn't alone, several people rode up with me to the "office" area where my desk was. On the opposite corner of this office, my coworker was in her cubicle trying to finish up before heading home. I offered to help her with the checks she was printing off and inserting into envelopes to mail out. She was appreciative and showed me how to fold each sheet of paper on the perforation. For some reason I couldn't fold the paper correctly and was having the worst time, the paper felt like onion-skin - delicate to the touch and I remarked that my sausage fingers were making a mess of things.

    The checks she was printing out at her desk were elaborate, reminding me of official documents or certificates - this small detail caught my attention as I tried desperately to help with the last few envelopes. Work was slow-going, my mind was set on making perfect folds on the paper but every time the fold was incorrect. My coworker laid down in a bed that was next to her desk - somehow this feature wasn't there before but since she was tired of waiting for me to finish the task - she fell asleep. Finally, I got the hang of the folding and stuffing of the envelopes, finishing of the stack that was left for me. I turned to see my coworker wrapped up tight in the bed - I had been working for hours and it was way past time for us to leave. Gently I moved over to her and tried waking her up softly so not to surprise her out of a dream. She woke up on the third attempt and I said "Time to go" she turned over, reaching her hand for the night table where she left her drink. I grabbed the glass first for her and took a sip by mistake, tasting a creamy cocoanut flavor. I apologized for tasting her drink, she nodded that it was fine. There were three chocolate chip cookies on the table next to the shot-glass that miraculously filled back up.

    We left the building into the night; I think that we rode the same elevator down but wasn't sure because it was as if we were already walking in a neighborhood "close to home" on a brownstone lined street. A commotion near the park caught my attention. My coworker shifted off to the side and became a shadow, or not particularly necessary for the next scene ahead. Some teenage boys were gathered around what looked like a giant portal or well that was at least 12ft around. In the center was a pit of mud or clay that was pulsing and moving - my first impression was that they had pranked one of their friends, dumping him in the mud. The reality of the scene was more nightmarish as the indeterminable figure rose up out of the mud and clay like a giant Golem. The teen boys fled the scene, I was more shocked into disbelief while watching the mud-man rise up to full height. The ogre sized figure pulled a big clump of mud out and plopping it on its right shoulder that wasn't completely formed, fixing itself whole.

    Next the pile decided it needed a companion for whatever quest it was to begin, it reached down into the mud-bog once again and pulled up a boulder-sized clump of clay that immediately wriggled into the form of another similar being except maybe child sized in comparison. The larger one lifted the now realized miniature onto its shoulder and began walking out of the area - whatever direction or mission it was on did not concern dealing with me - I was totally ignored as it head off in the same direction the teens had run off to.

    These mud beings had spoken their names to me when I asked, but I couldn't remember them when I woke up.

Yesterday

I posted this on Twitter (X) yesterday:

4:25am… Woman’s voice: “Oh Look!” I wake up, pull out my earplugs to take a look. Nothing. Go back to sleep.

Knights in White Spandex    

    After falling asleep again there was a shorter dream that I wanted to post but decided that I would spend the day not thinking about the dream or what it might mean.

    I was a superhero again. This time wearing my signature full-body Spandex attire - a direct rip-off of the white Power Ranger. After a battle or some other activity that was prior to my injection fully into this dream, I had flown to my hotel room to clean up and shower. The room was a mess. My stuff was everywhere, this causes me to evaluate my values and adherence to the superhero code. I need time for myself. Unfortunately for me I was late for check-out, forgetting that I hadn't extended my stay. The room was getting cleaned up for the next check-in. I had to rush to gather my things into the suitcase. Some construction workers were already arriving, the had rented my room - I didn't know what was going on but nothing made sense. Now I couldn't find my suit because I had quickly disrobed and dumped it into the pile of clothes I needed to wash before I got into the shower. Finally, I get my stuff together and find my outfit (Easier to grab my suitcase and fly out to another city) putting it on in the bathroom and I look at myself in the floor length mirror behind the door - chuckling because I look like a Power Ranger and notice how buff I am...

I wake up.

RUN

 

Property of Walt Disney

    For over a week I've been having much better sleep. A way that I gauge good sleep is the data I get from my Apple Watch and the strong compulsion to remember any dreams that I've had overnight. Recently I finished reading "The Red Book" by C.G. Jung which took more time than I expected. The writing is more twisty, and full of concepts and references to other works that I wasn't familiar with. This book ended up being research and study for me, having the desirable effect of breaking my nightly, inward concentration (I'm still not "done" with the book and may dive back in again?) to the point that I've been able to turn my back on recent dreams. They're slowly becoming background noise - as they should. Reading is definitely immersion for me - I sometimes come out of a book feeling like the main character, having to debrief myself or turn my attention to other things. Picking up Joseph Campbell's "The Hero With a Thousand Faces", another book worthy of study (Yes, I saw certain words in it that kind of put me off) definitely will take me some time to finish - I'm using it to decompress from Jung actually.

    

You didn't come here for my reading list though.

    A dream that puzzled me the other morning was seeing one of my best friends in the world, Alex dressed in a tailored suit - he was built like a model and could take any European cut suit off the rack and walk out the door - WITH the approval of the tailor. I didn't think anything of the dream until I tried analyzing it (Damn you JUNG!) thinking it meant he might be meeting his end soon. So rather than press the issue and try to recall the situation from the dream, I let it go.

You came here for the title - and Donald Duck Right?

    This morning, I was in a dream and watching someone draw Donald Duck, it was clearly the character on paper which caught my interest - one of my dad's favorite cartoons. I knew in the dream that I wasn't drawing because the black pencil was in the right hand of the artist. I'm a lefty. The character being drawn was in an action pose, Donald was positioned as if he were coming at you, losing his cool as usual. This was interesting for a few seconds; my attention was taken away, ready to move onto something else... a tap on my shoulder brought my attention back to the page, the artist had finished the drawing wanting me to see. There was the fully finished character now, with a spiky word balloon under Donald with the warning exclamation inside - RUN! My attention is drawn into the word, that I CAN READ and realize that the character has become animated... I wake up.

    

    Another warning from beyond? Most of my dreams are like drop-in scenarios making me swear the action is oftentimes running in the background until I literally take the leap or am dropped into the frame, when the action level or excitement is at a peak. I try to ignore the image; it pops back into my head. Checking my watch its only 1:15 - great. This means at least one more drop-in for tonight and the compulsion to write about it.

    

    The second dream is running in my head before 5:30, a fragment - whatever the action was - is over. I'm on an immense transport platform, flying high over the landscape with Professor Xavier and some lesser-known X-Men (Marvel Comics) - THIS catches my attention. The vehicle lands at our destination, presumably the new hidden lair because the last one was destroyed in the last battle (typical). The ship wasn't the usual "Blackbird" but a mind-controlled craft whose name didn't factor into the dream (Possibly "Sanctuary" but that might have been the name of the base - Edit) My concern, as one of the newer X-Men was the fate of the children that we rescued, at least several hundred now resided on the craft, needing at least temporary lodging at the new base. I pleaded my case with the Professor, knowing that one of the buildings - a large unused air hangar at the base, could be easily retrofitted to accommodate the children and provide what they needed. With his blessing, I rallied up the other heroes, together we were able to set up dormitories, a kitchen, recreation rooms, a gym, and classrooms. There was a jump in the dream, everything is going smooth, no excitement - just peace.

    I wake up, knowing all too well that I would be spending an hour before leaving to work - trying to tap this blog entry out on my laptop. 

Why did "Tricky" choose Donald Duck? Cartoons were the theme this time. Oh yeah - full moon on the way...

Oscar Hat

Dreams are supposed to be about what we’ve experienced throughout the day; a function of processing out our memories, separating the good from the junk so the good might be stored neatly into the recesses of our mind. A conversation about the “Oscars” last night might have triggered a scene in one dream where I mistakenly took a box from a man rolling a cart full of similar boxes that had the word “Oscar Hat” printed in large block letters in black. As I tripped over the man and his cart (I was running down a busy sidewalk) I actually read the letters and contemplated the meaning and what the hat might look like since there was no other indication of what was inside. My mind tried to run through anyone named Oscar and what the hat might look like, all the while the box was being turned over in my hands as I tried to catch it and place it back on the cart - an image of a Fedora popped into my mind, still there was no connection to anyone with the name. There was an off-hand reference if you may, to the style of Fedora worn by Christopher Reeve in “Superman” as his alter-ego - the news reporter Clark Kent. I actually know a guy who likes to go by an alternate name as an artist and writer… he’s well versed in DC comics and recently became the editor of a Midwestern newspaper. This is important - because part of the dream was connected to trying to enter a building to see him although I hadn’t been thinking about him for quite some time.

Even though the dream gave me a rabbit-hole of information to wade through, the actual indication of “Oscar Hat” may have been simpler than I thought - a confirmation of sorts that something like the collective unconscious described by Jung, was at play. The Oscars were last night, and the Best Picture was won by “Oppenheimer” a movie I have yet to see - the movie poster features the actor Cillian Murphy wearing a Fedora. Although my own attention wasn’t on the Oscars - plenty of people tune in, invested in their favorite movies and thespians, thus adding at least a common thread behind the scenes and at the forefront of consciousness in this country.

If I had been paying attention last Spring 23’, I could have made a large bet on the eventual World Series winners early, but the message only came through as a password that I created due to the expansion from 8 to 12 characters on most platforms.

The dream started with the need to go meet my friend at his home, although I don’t know exactly where he lives, we were headed to a building complex in a mid-sized city out West, since I knew in reality he lives somewhere in Ohio although from Google maps that area has small town vibes. The building I entered with my companions reminded me of a pre-war or Art Deco building in the Bronx - there were too many people inside the lobby area. At first we thought the elevators were out and I tried to get through the crowds to find the stairwell. The people were actually leaving because of a flood inside of the building or something more devastating was happening that concerned water. The escape from the building was necessary, so I and my companions left to get back to where the car was parked.

    Another challenge faced us, neighborhood toughs had double-parked their car next to ours making it impossible to get out. I was face to face with one of them and before I could ask him to move the car, he attempted to hit me or point the way out of the area to me - as he meant to say “Get out of here!” My reflexes were quick and I blocked his movement easily, confused he swung his hand again attempting to hit me in the face. Again my hand flew up to parry his hand like an expert in Karate. This interaction went on for a minute or two - my “Powers” besting the other man who just may have been another “Lucid” dreamer protecting his own dream from my incursion.

Now if this concept seems a bit much, consider that my worst “battles” in the dream world have come with cinematic clarity, my adversaries come through as a fully formed representation of their own “self” - something I dare to say wasn’t a simple “creation” from my own mind. Or are they? The chances of bumping into someone on a psychic level during a dream seems a ludicrous supposition on the part of a person analyzing their own dream - I felt that my proximity to this person interrupted whatever they were doing and he merely attempted to swat me away like a bug or a phantom that appeared in front of his face (I’ve described my perspective of being a spirit form or a consciousness flying around like a drone in several dreams…) 

Even though I fight with the idea that my mind could whip up whatever it needed for the next “scene” too easily - my own reasoning had on several occasions likened our conscious and subconscious as a complex computer - taking in reams of data of even the most mundane of things and processing it in the background like a super computer - able to recreate a though or memory even if briefly for conscious inspection - this process would have to be true for our dreams as well. (as above, so below)

We get the goons to move eventually, leaving in our car - the woman driving is a friend from the past who I never thought could drive - the dream thought so as well, we nearly crash into a few cars and obstacles as we leave the area. My nerves must have gotten the better of me during the drive, I exited the vehicle and began my run and eventual encounter with the Oscar Hat box man. While I stumbled with the box trying to regain my balance (over the next several streets or so) my trajectory landed me in an older part of town that proved to be a representation of a “Chinatown” in some city. There were street vendors gathered around trying to recover what they could, someone had smashed all of the glass and ceramic statues from a vendor’s stall. A man was helping out and kept saying “Holy Shit, Holy Shit” the vendor remained calm as he picked through the larger pieces trying to glue them back together. I was just as mortified and astonished as the man who reminded me of my old dream friend Samuel L Jackson stood off to the side exclaiming his expletive horror. The sight of so much glass and ceramic caused my counting fixation to kick in, and I stumbled over the area crushing glass pieces underfoot “Holy Shit” exclaimed the man again - then out of nowhere two hands grab me on my shoulders and I hear in my father’s voice “Don’t worry, I can take care of this…” Surprised that my father made an appearance if only just behind me startled me out of the dream, everything dissolves around me and I wake up.

My father also wore Fedora’s as a young man in the 50’s and 60’s - I had forgotten about that…                         

Alma

    

  On Tuesday (March 5) the dream was about a family that needed my help because of extreme paranormal Poltergeist activity in their home. I’ve never been on a “Ghost” hunt, but since the early days of our modern fascination with the subject (almost 20 years), I’ve watched hundreds of hours of various programs on the subject - no I’m not an expert.

    The dream starts off innocently enough, I arrive at a home where there is a bit of tension in the air. The family there is concerned about something going on in the back room - the sound of banging drawers and things hitting the wall make me think there is an angry child barricaded in the far bedroom having a tantrum. Before I can ask about my suspicion, the woman tells me that a “spirit” resides in the last room, that only her and her sister live there - there is no child living with them. Curiosity and compassion lead me to ask the woman “Is there something I can do?” She replies “Nothing - we’ve tried Everything!” My take on everything means that I don’t have to ask about what methods they employed to calm the spirit down, this activity is at a crescendo. More than likely the sprit just wants to communicate.

    Urged on by my own willingness to help the two, I slowly enter the back hallway of the home “Don’t” the first woman tries to hold my arm - I proceed anyway, cautious that the spirit might explode out of the room. Both of them creep behind me and they tell me the spirit can move large furniture around, so they leave the space unused.The women panic and leave the home, they wanted no part of this. Reaching the door, the sounds continue inside and I slowly open the door to take a peek. I see movement all around the room, despite the sister’s contention that no child lived there, the room had all types of dolls and toys scattered around leaving me to believe that they collected them. There is movement all around, a brown plush toy is playing peek-a-boo from behind a dresser, a creepy doll in a blue dress with a white apron is in a rocking chair moving back and forth. I don’t panic but become concerned when the dresser moves toward the middle of the room. “What is it do you want, why are you upset?” I ask without nearly any response. “You need to leave these women alone, please stop acting up” again there is no acknowledgment of my presence. Changing tactics I address the “Peek-a-boo” doll behind the dresser. “I see you there…” I say in English - something tells me to address the spirit in Spanish. “Te Veo” and the doll stops, turning its head in recognition falling to the floor. The seated doll turns it’s head to address me and I begin asking it questions in Spanish. “Why are you upset, are you a boy or a girl?” I hear the responses in my head… “a girl” she tells me. “What is your name?” I ask.

[During the dream she gives me her name, when I woke up the name escaped me - something with an ‘A’ in it, Spanish. Try as I might I couldn’t remember it. For the sake of this entry I chose Alma which ironically fit - it means “Soul” or “Sprit” in Spanish]

    She begins to open up to me, telling me she is upset because the women hate her. I try to convince her that the women were just afraid because they had no knowledge of the spirit world. I asked her if there was something she liked to do when she was a little girl - she replied “Riding my horse.” My next question was “Where is your horse now?” “He’s outside the house.” The spirit of the horse must have been there waiting, or just arrived because she hadn’t thought of it until then. Her tantrums kept her from thinking of the things most important to her - the one thing that felt like freedom to her, riding her own horse. She manifests into a shadowy form, I’m inclined to think she is Mexican, from the late 1800’s - her attention must be on the horse as she races past me down the hallway toward the front door. Following her outside I’m able to catch sight of her climbing the horse (now manifest) and kicking its sides causing it to burst into a gallop, heading away down the palm tree lined street.

    I feel happy and surprised that I can see wisps of ethereal dirt clouds forming as they pull away from sight - this is impossible because of the blacktop they just rode over. Satisfied that my work was done, I decide to look for the women to let them know everything was OK… I hear behind me the sound of horses hooves getting closer and turn to see the child returning with her horse. After she dismounts I ask her “What’s wrong, why did you come back?” She tells me sadly “It’s hard to ride when you’re alone, so I came back home.” This must have been where she lived, on or near the property. She leaves the horse and enters the house again.

I had written before in my journal, that the dead don’t speak with us in dreams - that might have been an incorrect statement. They may have been speaking to me all along… I just wasn’t listening.

This Ain’t the “Love Boat”

 

 The Dish   

    This morning, the theme of my dreams brought me back into the 1970’s. First there was a dream of being at the airport, waiting for someone to get off an airplane, either for a visit or back from vacation. We’ve all felt the anticipation of the moment we see our loved one coming out of the jetway door, craning our necks to see over the tall first-class passengers especially if who we’re looking for is a shade over 5’0”. Then I saw her, my mother. (I had a dream where she took a flight and I had to wheel her up to the plane) she was walking out carrying a vintage baking dish that was made of orange, or amber glass in front of her like a prized possession. My question to her wasn’t communicated verbally but maybe a thought - “Why didn’t you just pack that in the bags?” She replied “I wanted to make sure it didn’t break” a simple precaution given what we already know how our travel bags are treated sometimes. The vintage nature of the dish and the youthfulness of my mother’s face led me to believe that at least in this dream, we were back in the 70’s. Three days ago was the 30th anniversary of her passing - in two days it would have been her 88th birthday.

“This Ain’t the Love Boat”

    On a few occasions I have dreamt of being inside a banquet hall or other venue, sometimes full of people and other times not as occupied. Everyone is seated at their table (I’m reminded of a school lunchroom setup from my first school in the 70’s) my impression of the atmosphere would be community meeting or showcase, where a few minor stars would perform in honor of some organization or local politician. The room is darkened to the point I really can’t make out the other “audience” members laughing at the jokes being told by a familiar television star. A genuine part of my personality is my timing, whether it be a good or bad thing, I’m usually quiet while taking in everything being said - and calculate a response that will evoke some thought and sometimes laughter because of the irony… I can throw your words back at you like a cheap shot heckler. With enough fuel accumulated, I waited for the moment to strike, internally my brain has been counting every beat of this comedian’s timing - the next pause or lull in his performance is when I struck comedic gold… “This ain’t the Love Boat Isaac” were the words that came out of my mouth in the silence. The room erupted in a fit of laughter, Ted Lange gave a strange look over in my direction, trying to see who had bested him with a well-timed javelin hidden in the gloom. My tables faces were in shock - I put my hand over my mouth, feigning surprise “I didn’t mean to say that OUT LOUD!” Of course my intention was to get a chuckle. Ted made his way over in pseudo threatened horror “O-Kayyy who said that?” Some people hushed and a few mumbled that wasn’t called for. I was given up by my table as Ted reached our table - I got the Isaac stare… then his big signature smile and reached out his fist for a Dap - regaining his composure from the phony horror of being humiliated, then continues his skit. 

    Satisfied with my win, I get up from my spot and venture into the kitchen area where food was being served on trays lunch-room or prison style - at least for the moment, I was the only one in line…

Failed Abduction

    What is a night of dreams without at least one nightmare? The dream starts out as a leisurely drive in a Jeep, it’s nighttime and the top is off, so I’m thinking that it’s at least summer (Most of my dreams with the Jeep are with the top off anyway) My “Wife” is driving the car as usual (I gave up driving and will drive to the supermarket on occasion) but we’re in another part of ‘town’ that I don’t recognize but bringing my mind back to the scene there are nice clean open streets and the buildings not too tall. The tension begins when I spot something in the sky that my wife doesn’t see, a bright dot that doesn’t look like it’s moving. This doesn’t look like an airplane or a star - it gets bigger and then pops up just diagonally overhead nearly one hundred yards away… an illuminated UFO! The power of the lighting dimmed and I tried to get my wife to look up to see it - she couldn’t. Could it be that I was hallucinating? The shape was the telltale look of the Bob Lazar “Sports Model” the lighting was strangely familiar (Godzilla fans would remember the alien ships in “Godzilla vs. Monster Zero 1965”) Recognizing the danger, I told my wife to keep moving and “Get us out of here!”

    We take off down the road, but by this time the ship is after us and morphing into a smaller sized ball about 4ft in diameter, still glowing white. The ball end had a cube shaped portion on top and molded organic look, all the while illuminated and the shell looked like white vinyl rubber. The craft kept pace with us like a drone and then lowered on top of us. I stood up in the back seats thinking I could push the UFO away with my hand (Dumb right?) I felt the surface and it reminded me of a squishy dog toy, my right arm is now caught inside and I’m being pulled upward. For some time, I haven’t used my “dream powers” to help when things are getting dicey - this time my ability was gravity, I was able to hold the car from being lifted upward maintaining contact with the roadbed. Feeling like my arm would be ripped off if we didn’t somehow get this thing to release me, I reversed the gravitational pull from my captured arm into a force field - the UFO couldn’t hold on and slipped off with a slimy ‘pop’ noise. Defeated and flying off as if wounded - it took off. We kept on driving into the night.

The Jeep we were in reminded me of a model from the 70’s - which brought an end to my trifecta of dreams for this morning. 

Radiant Child

  

 I got off the elevator on the 12th floor and went to Room 12, everyone had unpacked from the trip and either sleeping or were showering (suite of hotel rooms?). I went to check on the child. Inside a glass enclosure bordered by luggage was the toddler, cooing and laughing; 

sunlight coming in through the windows kept the room warm and rays of light bathed this child, making her all the more radiant. The glass was open a little, just enough for the child to escape if she wanted to. When she noticed me, the toddler raced to the opening to greet me with open arms. Raising my left hand and index finger, I waved the child off as to say “No-No” for fear the others wouldn’t approve of her leaving the makeshift pen. The child waited patiently though, happy as ever. Several musical notes or tones woke me up, this time a flute-like sound of four at 5:54

    Before getting on the elevator, I was riding on the subway with “That Man” (Thanks The Why Files) who, turns out is not a real person at all but made up for a web site. Even thought this person/entity was the product of a LARP or internet spoof, I was able to see him manifest in my dream. Putting two and two together I imagine that through constant mention and seeing the creepy image purportedly created by a police sketch artist - could have created a thought form that now resides in that area of our subconscious that creates the fear response. 

    The man was riding in the empty subway car with me, I noticed that his resemblance to my late uncle Danny was drawing me in. Most dreams will provide a companion, sometimes they will be off to the side or peripheral - somewhere you really can’t see them until they are necessary for the next set of “scenes.” This morphing from one face or “mask” is something that my alter-ego “Tricky” usually pulls on me. We exited the train at the same station, I don’t remember if we were together or I decided to follow of my own accord.

    We then entered the elevator with several other people, a man was already inside a tall slim black man with dreadlocked hair and blue T and pants - a mechanic. No one wanted to stand near him because he was dirty with grease - I was rolling a suitcase in and another man had a hotel laundry cart. My “uncle” was totally oblivious to the situation, he noticed as well as I that the paint on the inside of the elevator door was chipped and peeling, several different layers of paint had been used over the years - dark blue, yellow, red, black etc…

    Wanting to be the bigger man, and needing more room between me and the laundry cart, I moved over next to the mechanic who was becoming upset at “uncle” for peeling off the layers of paint, the mechanic began asking in the slow drawl patios of a Jamaican “Wha cha do-en ah Mon?” He was asking my “uncle” who didn’t respond due to his preoccupation with the paint layers. Uncle had pressed a lower floor, since we entered in the Subway, the dream knew we were in a lower level, so he had pressed for the first floor, I wasn’t sure how many lower levels there were until we made it to the ground floor. The mechanic and I yelled at uncle to get off, this snapped him out of his paint peeling and he looked confused exiting the elevator, we held the door while he decided to exit. A few floors up the mechanic got off and reconnected with his fellow workers who were busy down the hallway.

    It was then that I asked no one in particular what floor I was supposed to get off… the number 12 came up in my mind and that’s the floor I got off , rolling my luggage behind me. The irony that everyone was in room 12 on the 12th floor wasn’t lost on me as I walked through the hallway looking for the door. Finally I saw the numbers outside of the suite in shiny black lacquered digits, entering to meet the Radiant Child.